


Cass's WIP collection

by A_Stressed_Cupcake



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley, Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Sally Face (Video Games), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, Beetlejuice AU, Charlie Magne needs a hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kidnapping, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Open to suggestions, Sal Fisher is tired, These are wips, Victor Frankenstein is an idiot, angst angst angst, because turns out the North Pole is cold, oh wow what a surprise, oh yeah Victor is dying, referring to Sally Face and Frankenstein, tha sanders sides wip is a potential sequel, who'd have thunk it, y'all know me by now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23681221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Stressed_Cupcake/pseuds/A_Stressed_Cupcake
Summary: A collection of WIPs that I lost motivation to finish.If you're interested in any of them let me know and I might finish writing them.Also accepting suggestionsThe status is and will remain "complete" no matter how many stories I add because they're all one chapter  :,)Chapter 1- RulesChapter 2- Sanders SidesChapter 3- Hazbin HotelChapter 4- Sally FaceChapter 5- Frankenstein
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Everyone, Charlie Magne & Everyone, Charlie Magne/Vaggie, Sal Fisher & Travis Phelps, Victor Frankenstein & Everyone
Kudos: 8





	1. Rules

These are WIPs I lost motivation for. The stories the WIPs come from are already planned, all I would have to do is write them, but I have to decide what to work on.

For the suggestions:

\- they're not exactly "requests", per se, but if your suggestion turns into a story I will gift the work to you  
\- preferably one-shots or only a few chapters, as I am already writing a long story :,)  
\- they're suggestions because if I don't like the ship or the character I can't write it

FANDOMS:  
-Sanders Sides  
-Tangled the Series  
-Hazbin Hotel  
-Sally Face  
-Supernatural  
-Frankenstein  
-other classics (Oscar Wilde, Jekyll & Hyde, etc.)  
-Good Omens  
-some Starkid musicals (Twisted, TGWDLM, Black Friday, Trail to Oregon…)  
-Spies Are Forever  
-Boku no Hero Academia  
-The Umbrella Academy  
-more will likely be added

I WRITE

-Ratings up to M  
-Angst (preferably with a happy ending but not necessarily)  
-Fluff  
-for real I will angst anything  
-Usually any ship (see below for exceptions)  
-AUs/canon divergence are very welcome  
-you can literally just tell me "take this scene and make it angstier" and I probably will  
-Death/Injury/Kidnapping etc are fine

I DON'T WRITE

-E rating  
-Smut  
-Any ship that is incestuous (yes, Umbrella Academy, I'm looking at you), or with a huge age gap/underage ships unless they're around the same age and it doesn't go further than a kiss  
-Graphic Torture

That is all :)  
Leave a comment if you're interested


	2. Seven Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A possible continuation I'd envisioned for the Beetlejuice AU

He hadn't had nightmares in a while. Not since the time Remus thought it would be a good idea to put a snake in his closet, anyway. That had been an interesting morning.

So when he woke up with drying tears in his eyes and stiff hands from clutching the pillow, he was understandably a little surprised. More so when he realized he couldn't even remember what had upset him so much. He stumbled out of his room, shivering at the cold of the floor against his feet. The house was worryingly silent in a way it hadn't been since the Maitlands had been locked in the attic, an episode he did not care to reminisce about, for the sake of his own slowly dying sanity.

The intermittent light from the Christmas tree downstairs that they were too lazy to take down was somewhat reassuring, though. 

It was January already. It was cold. And, as usual, the idiot that he was, he had completely forgotten to wear the fuzzy socks that Roman had given him for his birthday. The ghosts had a very peculiar way of getting presents for their living friends by sending someone (usually Remy) to be their errand boy and grab some materials, but it worked.

His throat was dry as a desert and his cheek burned from the salt in his tears, so his first stop would be the bathroom, he decided.

The bathroom next to his room was pretty tiny, because it was really meant to be Roman's (in fact, the ghost could indeed be found in there sometimes, for makeup and rehearsals), but he didn't mind. What he did mind was the malfunctioning lightbulb.

Flickering lights are, unequivocally and universally, terrifying. Bathrooms and mirrors at night are similarly universal in how much they scare people. A combination of both could not be good, and Virgil really should have known. But it was like three in the morning and he was really stupid at three in the morning. It didn't occur to him that he lived in an actual, honest-to-god haunted house.

Well… until he heard a voice from beside him, anyway.

" _ Virgil, right?" _

"JESUS CHR-"

Okay, maybe he could've handled that better. To be fair, there was now an inky void reflected in the mirror in place of his bathroom, and only one single thing in it. Well, not a  _ thing _ . A person. A girl, to be precise.

A girl with pale blond hair and a little rivulet of darkened blood running forever down her chin.

" _ Hey kid. Remember me? _ "

He did. 

"You're from the Netherworld." he frowned.

" _ Not exactly. _ " she shrugged, " _ I am  _ **_in_ ** _ the Netherworld. Very few people are  _ **_from_ ** _ the Netherworld. _ "

"Why are you here, though?"

" _ Well, here's the thing _ ." she said, leaning against the surface of the mirror casually, " _ I got bad news. I'm not really supposed to tell you, but...hey, to be honest, I don't really ever do what I'm supposed to. _ "

Her voice sounded kind of muffled, like that square pane of glass really was the only thing between them. She looked almost disinterested, picking some dried blood off the underside of her nail.

He gulped. Bad news. But how? It had been months since Juno had burst into their house. Was he in trouble for that? No, that had been Remus's doing. But the reason Juno was there in the first place was indeed because of Virgil. And the girl (Emma? Eleanor?) had seen him in there, she knew he was alive. But she'd seemed to sympathize with him. What could she possibly want?

"What is it?" he finally decided to ask.

" _ You are in trouble. Big surprise, I know. _ " she mocked, looking at his unimpressed face, " _ See, the thing is… a few of us had kinda covered up your intrusion from the superiors. And we thought it worked, like, no one has tattled on you so far, but I can't guarantee it'll stay like that forever. And there are... rumors." _

"Rumors?"

" _ Yeah. So they are cranking up the security. I'm... really not supposed to be here, but ya know...I like you, kid. So consider this your warning. I'd learn an exorcism spell or two if I were you." _

"I'd rather avoid that." Virgil mumbled, trying to distance himself from the quiet gurgling in the back of his mind.

" _ Well, that was just a suggestion. If you have any better ideas, go for it. And, dude…" _

Her speaking mannerisms were pretty weird for someone who looked like she'd just popped in from the Victorian Age.

"Yeah?"

" _ I know how familiar this is gonna sound, and I promise it wasn't intentional, but. Hear me out, because I don't have time. In the next week, you will be visited by seven ghosts. Seven more ghosts, anyway." _

He blinked at her. Before he could speak, she resumed: " _ Yeah, I know. I know. You've got it down to the Christmas tree. I know for a fact that our superiors don't read Dickens, though, so… funny coincidence?" _

"Yeah, who  _ are  _ your superiors?" he asked her. She kept mentioning them, but she hadn't referred to Juno as her superior, so how high in rank was she? And who was on top of the chain?

" _ Oh, acquaintances. Trust me, you will likely never meet them. Just one piece of advice for you before the connection goes out on me… _ "

"Yeah?"

_ "These will not be happy ghosts. They're people who've been wronged, and hurt, and they must be han...d with care. If p...sible, you sh…d a…ay…tr…o…" _

Her image flickered.

"You're breaking up!" he warned. Her flimsy picture shuddered like a candle in a gust of wind.

The last thing he saw her do was look over her shoulder.

Then she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I get hives if I'm not writing/planning a Sanders Sides AU at all times :D
> 
> Like all other chapters, please let me know if you'd be interested in seeing the whole work. It's already planned out but idk if I should write it.
> 
> -Cass


	3. House of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie angst, mostly.

The door creaked. It was the only door in the entire building that still creaked. She had spent hours, days, way too long, cleaning and oiling the hinges of all the other doors until she could see her sad little face looking back at her. Sometimes, other faces joined in too. 

Charlie made a mental note to clean the hinges in the attic, too. 

“Okay…” she whispered to herself, “Get it together, Charlie. This place could  _ really  _ use a shine.”

No one had been up there in a while, so no one had noticed how dirty it was getting. Some of the occupants might have thrown a fit if they’d seen it. If they’d been  _ there _ to see it, she corrected herself.

The handle of her heavy bucket was slowly digging into her fingers, so she set it down beside the door. 

“Alright!!” she chirped, pulling a rag from her belt, “Dust beware, I’m on my way!”

It wasn’t until the third box she went through that it occurred to her  _ why _ she hadn’t been up there in so long. Of course she had to run into the pictures so soon. 

The first person to use the camera had been Vaggie. The resulting picture was a disaster, because it was  _ really _ old. Angel, though, had taken a very quick liking to a camera that he could actually hold instead of just posing for it, as soon as he’d seen it. He knew cameras, obviously, he knew how to use them, but it had been a while since he’d had something from his own time back in his hands. 

“Hah! We had one o’ these at home!” he’d exclaimed, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Same model and everything.”

“You know how to use it?” Charlie had asked him.

In response, he’d held the camera up to her, rolled the film back and told her to  _ make like Alastor and smile, toots _ .

Charlie couldn’t help the little smile that crept up on her face. The pictures were both still there. Vaggie’s blurry, poorly framed shot and Angel’s perfect shot of her smiling face. She saw herself beaming at the camera. It was unsettling. That couldn’t be her. Because when was the last time she’d smiled that way?

The picture underneath was from a few weeks after the first two. 

“I got ‘em!” they heard Angel yelling from downstairs. The makeshift dark room in the basement was tiny and those who weren’t used to operating old 1940s cameras (namely, Vaggie, Husk and the audio-only, look-at-me-wrong-I-dare-you, freakishly tall fellow that was Alastor) avoided it like the plague. 

Charlie distinctly remembered jumping up from her chair: “Let me see, let me see!!” 

“A’ight.” the spider demon had shrugged, passing her a little stack of photos.

She had flipped through them enthusiastically. 

“Aw, this one’s adorable!!” she had squealed after seeing the last photo of the pile.

It must’ve been a late night picture, because aside from Husk’s prone figure, the ends of a little bob of hair she knew to be pink poked out from a sea of feathers. She  _ had  _ always wondered if it would be warm under his wings. Guess they should ask Niffty.

“ _ Well, don’t keep it to yourself, darling. _ ” Alastor called from a few feet behind her.

“Look at this, Al.” she’d smiled, flipping the picture so he could see it.

He had brought his monocle closer to the picture to give it a better look. His head had tilted slightly to the side in amusement: “ _ Oh, how lovely _ .”

“Yeh, no one tell Husk.” Angel chuckled.

“No one tell me  _ what _ ?”

That was a fun night.

She sighed as she put the picture aside. 

“I should probably stop…” she mumbled, but her fingers were already flipping through the next pictures. 

Simple moments.

There was that time Niffty had made muffins and that time Angel had fallen asleep on the stairs and that time Al had been somehow persuaded to recite a Shakespeare monologue (she didn’t even remember how, but oh boy, was he good at monologuing).

Charlie felt a tiny laugh climb up her throat at the memory.

“I should stop…” she repeated, deaf to her own pleas. 

_ Stop _ , some part of her pleaded again,  _ stop before you hurt yourself. You know what’s in there. _

She hesitated little more than a moment before uncovering the last stack of pictures. 

Her breath got knocked out of her lungs.

She was looking at a picture of a pale little hand with nails painted black. A beautiful, branch-like ring glittered on its finger. Behind the little hand, she could just make out another hand, holding it up as if to pose it for the picture. The picture did not show the inscription on the inside of the ring, of course, but she didn’t need to see it. She knew what it said.

She knew, because she’d memorized it, read it over and over and over until she couldn’t see through the curtain of her tears. 

**Through hell and high water. -V**

She suddenly felt more than one weight pressing against her chest. The crushing weight of loss and, just beside it, the gentle weight of what she knew was there, hanging around her slender neck where she didn’t have to see it. Her hand travelled to the small pendant. She felt the details and intricacies of the jewel on her fingertips, just under her shirt. The branches of black steel intertwined with silver. The little red gemstone in the center that was supposed to be round but that a defect rendered more akin to a heart. If she pressed hard enough, she could almost read the message carved on the inside.

**Through hell and high water. -V**

She had treasured that ring for years before she’d had to relegate it to the inside of her shirt.

She had held her hand up until it went numb at night, trying to catch every little detail on the back and the front, the outside and the inside, on the ring, the gem, the inscription, rinse and repeat. 

She had looked for something else, some secret writing that could answer the many questions buzzing in her head, but there were always five little words alone.

**Through hell and high water. -V**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one... Mmmmmm  
> I've had this in my files for a while, always unfinished  
> If you're interested in seeing the rest, please tell me :,) my only problem at this point is motivation
> 
> -Cass


	4. A rainy day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally Face angst (what a surprise)

The weather forecast had told them the day before that it would rain, and no one had been thrilled. Sal had gone multiple times through his closet, wondering if there were any last-minute changes of outfit he could make without feeling terrible about himself. He'd laid out dozens of different clothing items on his bed and tried a few of them on, and he'd even found a valid substitute for his original plan in a long black dress. Still, he  _ had  _ been a little upset about not getting to wear his new dress. Yellow was a big step up for him. 

By some incredible luck, however, he didn't need to worry about that, because it turned out the weather forecast had been dead wrong. It was almost 5PM and not a single drop of rain had fallen throughout the entire ceremony and the first half of the reception.

So there he was, outside on the porch, trying to find a good spot to sit down without spoiling the light color of his dress.

Stranger things have happened.

It was exactly 4:49 in the afternoon. He'd been granted a few minutes of alone time after he performed the music for the first dance as he'd promised. The song they'd requested really wasn't his style, but he didn't care. It was his humble opinion that anyone who mocked the preferences of a couple on their wedding day should not be at the wedding in the first place. Including and especially family.

However, that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to get some alone time after something as big as a performance. And after pictures. Pictures were not his favorite thing.

He sighed. 

"I don't get this." he murmured, "I don't get  _ any _ of this."

Let it be known that he approved of the wedding completely. He was happy about it. He'd dressed up nicely, he'd done his hair, he'd taken pictures with everyone and played guitar for them. So why couldn't that little tug in his gut  _ leave _ already? 

He leaned slightly against the rail around the porch. "Hey mom." he whispered, "I just wanted to let you know that... we're doing better now. Me and dad, I mean. I think…" he sighed, "It's weird, but I think we can be okay. Eventually. We're on our way. I love you. But I think I can be okay, even without you. I'll be okay."

His eyes slipped closed for just a moment. A little break.

_ I'll be okay. _

It was a very nice thought. Which is why he should've known better than to think it.

"Hey."

His life was weird. No doubt. But that didn't mean he wasn't caught off-guard occasionally. 

That was one of those times.

His surprise, he would say, was rather justified, considering he hadn't seen Travis Phelps in quite a long time for someone who lived in the same town as him. He couldn’t really picture him being there to give the newlyweds congratulations, either. So he said exactly what was appropriate for the situation.

“Hi.”

In his defense, it had been a long day.

Thankfully, he managed to say what was really on his mind: “What are you doing here?”

He scanned his former classmate with his eyes. He looked jumpy, to say the least, and Sal narrowed his eyes at how swollen his lower lip looked on one side. He didn't look much different from the last time he'd seen him, only… worse, somehow. "Are you okay?" he added, seeing as how Travis's brain seemed to be suddenly incapable of forming words.

"I need your help." the boy choked out. Yes, choked out. He looked like he'd been forced to swallow glass, which was thankfully not the case, seeing as how he could walk and talk. But there might as well have been shards of glass stuck in his throat for how much trouble he was having getting the words out.

Sal had a horrible suspicion: "Hey, are you okay? Did you hit your head?"

That seemed to snap him out of it: "What? I- no."

"Good to know. You look kinda… dazed?" Sal guessed, "Confused? I don't know."

"My head's fine." Travis hurriedly answered, looking over his shoulder, "Look, I need your help."

"You need my help with… what, exactly?" he asked, standing up and brushing the dust off his dress, "Is everything okay? Should I get help for y-"

" _ No _ !!" 

Sal startled. "O… okay, man, you don't need to yell."

"Sorry."

He raised his brow. That was new.

"It's okay." he said, shelving that can of worms for later. "What is it you need help with?"

And the brain malfunction came back with a vengeance: "I th… it's… uh… I just thi… no, it's better… I think it's better if you see for yourself."

He grabbed Sal by the wrist without thinking, but he seemed to change his mind at the last second and just stumbled off the porch instead.

"O...kay?" 

Sal followed after him, halfway between confused, suspicious and worried. He gave the window of the reception room one last glance. He could still go back inside, where it was safe. But what was going on? Maybe he really did need help. Maybe he  _ was _ injured or sick and it just wasn't immediately visible. 

It was out of concern that he followed him, but it was out of caution that he looked around every step they walked. His mangled brow rose even further when they entered the patch of woods behind the old abandoned school. 

"Travis, where are we going?" he asked.

No answer. 

Sal looked around again. It was too late to run back should something happen. He hadn't told anyone where he was going. 

"Travis." he called again, more firmly, holding back the slight tremble in his voice.

That seemed to get his attention, because he flinched visibly.

"Where are we going?" Sal asked again, calmly.

The boy finally stopped and turned around, without looking him in the eyes. The breeze moved his blond hair away from his face and, for just a moment, he could make out the outline of a bump on his forehead, just below the hairline. 

"Travis?"

"I'm sorry."

He didn't have time to ask for further clarification, unfortunately. 

Someone grabbed his arms from behind and then he couldn't see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello fandom I've never written for before :,)  
> I have the start and end of this story written and a general plan for the middle so all I need is motivation. So basically if you wanna read the rest, tell me :,)
> 
> Why does this take place on Lisa and Henry's wedding day, you ask?  
> Because I enjoy the aesthetic value of yellow dress Sal. That's it.
> 
> -Cass


	5. The Final Days of Victor Frankenstein

_ Unconsciousness is bliss when one is in pain. How else to describe my feelings during those last few days of poor Frankenstein’s life? He seemed to be at peace only as long as he languished in the tender embrace of sleep. I am convinced that he sees something I cannot. If only I could accompany him on his journey through the realm of Morpheus, if for a moment I could see what had the poor man so shaken… _

_ Alas, I could not. _

_ He yelled sometimes, whispered the names of the dead; if he failed to recover soon, I knew he would join them in a matter of days. _

_ I feared, beloved sister, that it was Death himself that painted his lips with the colours of the storm, his skin white as his shroud, and his hair a darker black than night. I could see how every petal of the rose of his health faded from his cheek with each breath he drew. Indeed, he looked too much like a corpse, too much like the daemon he so oft mentioned in the throes of his nightmares. _

_ How to describe the words he spoke then? A madman's screams. _

_ I wish I'd known what he saw, if only so I could have comforted him when he returned to his senses. Alas. _

The first time Victor opened his eyes, it was to a gentle touch on his forehead. His head, not on his knowing command, shifted to better feel the comfortingly cold hand on his burning face.

"Oh! How cold you are!" he cried, "But stay! I pray you, stay."

"If only I could, my dear Frankenstein." his nurse answered, like he had so many times before. His hands were the hands of Henry Clerval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello fandom I've been lurking around but never had the courage to interact with :D  
> How do you do?  
> I enjoy hallucination stories immensely, in case it wasn't clear and oh, poor Clerval isn't the only one who's gonna pay dying Frankenstein a visit :,)  
> Like all the other WIPs in this collection, the only thing I lack to finish this story is motivation, so if you'd like to see more please do tell me :,)
> 
> -Cass


End file.
